“Yes, but I spent most of the day tarping down the shelves and taping along the molding so that when I did start to sand, the dust didn’t fly around everywhere.”
“Isn’t there a vacuum attached to the machine that would help prevent that from happening? And the only reason I know that is because I looked up refurbishing floors yesterday because I was deeply concerned about you getting on all fours and sanding everything by hand.”
“You looked it up?”
That’s kind of…cute.
Wait, no. We don’t associate cute with Theo. There is nothing cute about him.
Not in the slightest.
“I did, and that’s when I saw the giant sanding tool that, honestly, I want to take a ride on. It looks like it would be fun.”
“You don’t ride the sander, Theo,” I say as we make our way down to the beach again. I enjoyed the crash of the waves on our walk yesterday.
“I understand, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to do it.”
“Are you a child?”
“Most of the time.” He winks and then gasps while covering his eye. “Wait, that wasn’t a wink, that was…something was in my eye?—”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t lie.”
“Shit…fuck…uh…”
“Just admit that you winked.”
He sighs dramatically. “I’m sorry, I winked. It’s in my nature, just like it’s in Jason Bateman’s nature to wink as well. We’re winking men and it’s going to take a lot to break the habit. Maybe if I’m rewarded when I don’t that will help.”
“Right, and what would you want as a reward?”
“Hmm, great question. I’m a man of few things.” That makes me snort. “What?” he asks.
“Need I remind you about the tassel?”
“For the love of God, that’s a fashion choice, not something I need. I could go without the tassel. Do you want me to remove them when I get home? I’ll rip them right off. Clean off the leather.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well, consider it done. The tassels will be gnawed off by my own teeth—that way you can tell just how serious I am.”
“Serious about what?”
He goes to answer but then shuts his mouth, pondering. “You know, I can’t really be sure. Unclear what we’re talking about at the moment.”
“Oh my God.” I chuckle.
“I think I might still be suffering from a touch of jet lag.”
“You can’t blame everything on that.”
“Pretty sure I have a week and a half of milking that excuse.”
“A week and a half?” I ask. “Uh, no, I’d say two days, and that time has passed, therefore you can’t use it anymore.”
“You don’t know my body, and you don’t know what’s going on in here. But if you’re interested”—he pauses for dramatic effect—“I can give you a tour.”
“Flirting,” I state and then move past him, walking quickly.
